


Inevitable

by PrimePleb



Category: LoveLink (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Night Stands, Slow Burn, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimePleb/pseuds/PrimePleb
Summary: Blake Bailey meets Skylar Quinn, and what happens next is somewhat inevitable.
Relationships: Blake Bailey/Skylar Quinn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Inevitable

The apartment is a small, one-bedroom shithole above the city’s worst takeaway: _Big Wong_ ’s. The name alone was enough for Blake to sign the lease, but the lack of foot traffic thanks to numerous bouts of food poisoning was the real selling point.

He still shovels it down, though, the free cartons of house Chow Mein the owners leave outside his door in thanks for dragging the garbage cans to the curb each Wednesday. Say what you will about Blake, but he’s a damn good tenant and an even better lay - something he reassures his latest conquest by pressing them into the mattress with a practiced roll of the hips.

“… _God_.”

Blake's life has become somewhat predictable: work, fuck, rinse, repeat. His mother wants him to settle down, but he has no idea how he’s supposed to do that when he’s constantly dripping in pussy and dick.

At work, he’s booked out for months because people long for him to permanently embed their skin with his gifted touch, one way or another, and he’s all too happy to oblige. His price is high, but the people pay it, throwing their money at him to brand meaningless imagery into their virgin flesh.

Blake has followed the curve of his work with an eager tongue more times than he cares to admit, though mixing work with pleasure is never a good idea, and he’s lost a fair number of customers that way because they always want more than he’s willing to give. Take the person beneath him, for example. Blake knows when this is over, they’ll want to stay; move into the vacant space beneath his ribcage, between his lungs, and stay there as though they’ve been invited. The thought mildly annoys him, and Blake fists into the head of hair beneath him and pulls, hard, until they cry out in far more pain than pleasure.

“Yeah,” he growls. “Just like that.”

He likes it rough; no strings attached. Wants to bite, scratch, pull and push, until the person beneath him begs Blake to stop. Wants their pleasure stained on his bedsheets, and their taste emblazoned on his tongue. Wants to show up at work with bruises blooming around his neck, burgeoning looks of jealousy and disappointment from the people who sit in his chair.

It’s his lifeblood, that jealousy. It’s what he needs to keep going and feel like he’s someone worth having. His last relationship chewed him up and spit him out, damaging him for all others. Blake has yet to find anyone worthy of more than the gift between his legs; but then again, he no longer knows if he wants that. His heart and his head are at war because love is for fools. It isn’t sustainable. Not when you have a life outside your partner, and impossible standards to uphold. Sometimes, Blake wishes he could settle down with himself, but masturbation is boring, and he already knows his own secrets.

His conquest asks after them as Blake ties off the condom, tossing it off the side of the bed with a huff. 

“You’re far away,” they say, concern etching their features. It’s cute, really, how they think Blake will engage them in more than just sex.

“ _You_ aren’t,” Blake responds, pulling on a pair of sweats. “Should be, though.” He winks; can feel the person’s look of death upon him but refuses to engage until they’re on the opposite side of his threshold. “Get home safe,” he says, then locks the door behind them. _Asshole!_ he hears and smiles to himself. Another customer lost, undoubtedly, but he was horny and desperate thanks to the relentless cock tease he’s recently swiped right on.

Dating apps are the worst. There’s no follow through and Blake needs the follow through, or he needs to stop browsing for what, he isn’t sure. 

_“_ Romance _”_ according to his co-workers, but Blake has yet to find it on _Lovelink_. Everyone on there is just so boring; so typical. So – shallow. Conversations usually revolve around how hot Blake is, which he already knows, or how cool his ink is, so it’s all so fucking pointless. No one has bothered getting to know _him_ for _him_ (though his elusive nature doesn’t help, but hey, he isn’t going to bare his soul to just anyone); and no one has offered him anything interesting to latch on to. Romance needs to be passionate and captivating, and Blake has yet to feel either for longer than a handful of minutes.

It doesn’t stop him from trying, though, if for no other reason than to get his co-workers off his back. _Loveline_ has become somewhat of a nightly, post-fuck ritual for Blake. When his head is clear, and his body well-fucked, he can swipe his matches more objectively. 

Zayn Kassab, Grace Kim, Wyatt Moore, and Victoria Voznesensky get swiped left, while Blake generously swipes right on Calum Keys and an Angel Reed, who looks hot enough but also very annoying. He has ways of shutting her up, though, so it’s a risk worth taking, he figures, while following suit with a Skylar Quinn. Blake has a weakness for assholes and this guy has the beautiful face of one. Naturally, he matches with none of them.

“Fucking rude,” he complains, tossing his phone to the foot of the bed. “I’m a goddamn catch.” Says his mom, and his ex-partner who ripped Blake’s heart out and stomped on it, before smearing the thing all over a New York City sidewalk. It surprises him, sometimes, just how bitter he still is over the whole fucking thing; but Blake had their love imprinted into his skin, something he wholeheartedly advises against but thought he was the exception to.

 _I remember the moment we met, filled my stomach with_ _butterflies_.

He now sports a handful of the colorful things on his bicep, evidence of his heartache and of how disgustingly saccharine he can be when it comes right down to it. No one knows, though, except for his co-worker who covered the damn thing up and relentlessly teases him for it whenever she’s in a particularly sour mood.

 _Bitch_ , he thinks fondly, breathing in the stagnant scent of meaningless sex while falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for giving this a shot! it's been a while since i have written anything, so apologies if it seems i'm warming up :) i have this whole thing planned out so updates shouldn't take too long. x


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